


Real Illusion, Fake Reality

by justanothermaniac



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Love (sort of), Fluff and Angst, Insanity, Jerome is dead (even though I'll always be in denial), M/M, Post Spray Jeremiah, Talking To Dead People, could be twincest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-30 17:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19408075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermaniac/pseuds/justanothermaniac
Summary: It's so like Jerome to make sure he could torment him even from his grave. Sick, twisted and cruel.





	Real Illusion, Fake Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo...the beginning of this scene: https://youtu.be/w1UjjGr4vR4
> 
> Idk about you guys but to me, it always seemed like he's talking to Jerome. Notice the voice change? Well...that's when this happened. It's one of the first Gotham fics I've ever written and a little different from the fics I've already posted. Also, I'm still and always will be in denial about Jerome's death (He'S aLiVe) but I hope you enjoy it either way!
> 
> Have a good day, my lovelies!
> 
> \- jam

"I think you're a little in over your head on the whole _Binding Brucey Boy_ thing."

Jeremiah can feel Jerome's presence behind him, probably looking over his shoulder at the blueprints he is bent over, but he doesn't bother turning around. "Your input is acknowledged but not appreciated", Jeremiah says, trying to keep his voice as calm and void of emotion as usual, but the strain is audible. Even after Jeremiah's transformation and even in death, Jerome can stir emotions within him. Mostly annoyance and anger. Sometimes others.

He can hear his twin brother click his tongue. "So harsh! I'm just tryin'a look out for ya, baby bro."

"Well, all you're doing is driving me insane."

"AH! Wrong, I already did that. Can't go insane twice. Or can you? Would double insanity equal sanity?"

When Jerome starts to giggle, Jeremiah rolls his eyes and finally decides to rise from his hunched over position and turn around. His twin brother is in the dark red armchair, his legs thrown over the armrest, his scarred face split into a grin. "Double Insanity. That's us, baby bro, isn't it? Fucking hell, that's so funny."

"Yes, absolutely hilarious", "Jeremiah hisses, not bothering to hide his annoyance at his brother's antics. "Too bad your body is rotting in a grave, I gladly would've shared that laugh with the actual You."

Jerome feigns a gasp, clutching his chest as he stares at Jeremiah with wide eyes. "Ouch! Low blow, baby bro."

Jeremiah can feel his eye twitch. "Stop calling me that."

"Or what? Ya gonna stab at thin air?" In the blink of an eye, Jerome is gone from the chair and standing next to Jeremiah, his voice directly at his ear, making the younger twin wince. "Even death can't do us apart, brother dear ~"

Jeremiah quickly strides past Jerome, coming to a halt in front of the window, trying to keep the trembling of his body under control. "You just couldn't resist making the gas the way you did, could you?", he presses out, the resentment clearly audible in his voice. It's so like Jerome to make sure he could torment him even from his grave. Sick, twisted and cruel.

Jeremiah's heart aches at the thought so he quickly dismisses it. Jerome was silent for an uncharacteristically long amount of time. Only when Jeremiah turns around to look at him again does the older twin speak, in an unusually calm and serious tone. "Don't blame that on me. It's all in your head, baby bro. Insanity always is. You seeing me is a result of your own mind merging with the effects of the gas."

As if a switch was flipped, Jerome starts to grin again. "Which doesn't mean I'm not having fun with it. Now you see me."

He disappears. "Now you don't." When he reappears his scars are gone and his skin is smooth and rosy, eighteen again. "Pretty boy", he says in his old voice before he disappears again, reappearing a few feet away from Jeremiah. The scars are back and his voice sounds low and raspy. "Handsome man."

Jeremiah closes his eyes at the sudden dizziness and starts rubbing his temples. "Would you stop that? It's giving me a headache."

"Okay then, how ya want me to look?" Jerome is standing in front of him again now, all cheeky grin and face free of scars. "I think I'll go like this today. WOW." He looks at his reflection in the mirror _(there is no reflection, this is all just in my head),_ whistling. "We really were gifted with a beautiful face!"

Jeremiah is still rubbing his temples, taking a deep breath through his nose. "Jerome, is there any point to this at all?"

"Actually, yeah. I'm trying to distract ya from the baby billionaire. Is it working?"

Jeremiah huffs, striding past his brother without looking at him, back to his blueprints. "It might have if you didn't tell me." He puts his hands flat on the table, frowning as he studies the plans.

Jerome's presence is still as strong as ever, prodding at Jeremiah's brain and keeping him from focusing. "You should reconsider this whole shebang."

The younger twin closes his eyes in annoyance. "So you've said", he presses out through clenched teeth, "and I still don't care."

Jerome is quiet for a long moment. "Ya honestly believe _Bruce Wayne_ is ever gonna be able to replace me?"

Jeremiah's heart clenches painfully. _Damn you, Jerome._

He started shaking ever so slightly, his gaze glued to the blueprints. "This isn't about replacement. He's an upgrade." The lie doesn't even convince Jeremiah himself.

And of course it doesn't convince Jerome. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. But-" In a flash, Jerome's hands appear in Jeremiah's field of vision, making him flinch. Jerome is mirroring him on the other side of the table and despite himself, the younger twin looks up.

Jerome's face is stern, serious. _Unrelenting._ "You know that this is all about making up for the time we lost." Before Jeremiah can utter a weak protest, Jerome continues. "Was I the best brother? No. Were _you?_ Heh."

His face starts flashing as he grins, deformed, scarred, broken. "No." And he's eighteen again, tilting his head matter-of-factly. "But we're still twins. Two halves of a whole. We always will be." He suddenly reaches out, his index finger poking Jeremiah's chest just above his heart. Jeremiah shouldn't be able to feel it. But he does. "And you'll always have an empty space inside your heart, where mine fits. It's the same for me."

It's Jerome's voice talking but the words are Jeremiah's. As real as he seems, this isn't Jerome, not really. It's a fragment of Jeremiah's mind that has taken the form of his deceased twin, tormenting him day after day, night after night, telling him things he already knows but doesn't want to know. All the while occupying the body of the one person in Jeremiah's life he hates as much as he loves.

No, that's wrong. No matter how much Jeremiah tries to hate Jerome, the love will always outweigh the hatred. He has turned around, leaning against the table, gripping the edges with both hands for support. He's shaking in earnest now. Why can't Jerome just leave him alone? "You're not even real, how could you know?"

Of course Jerome appears in front of him again, bent over slightly so he can see Jeremiah's face even though he's hung his head. Although the form he's taken is physically younger than Jeremiah, he still holds the same authority he always carried himself with. Jerome was born thirteen minutes earlier and therefore, in his mind, he was the big brother. To Jerome, that meant control over Jeremiah, power, superiority.

But also concern, protection and sometimes _(not often enough)_ gentleness. "I know because you know. Think about it, baby bro. Fifteen years and the first thing I did when I got the chance was to go look for you."

Jeremiah shrugs, gulping down the lump in his throat. "Because you wanted to kill me."

"And yet here you are", Jerome replies, the look on his face now expectant. "The gas, baby bro. Special just for you." Jeremiah blinks. What is Jerome-?

Suddenly, he remembers the stage. He remembers Jerome holding the blade as he looks down at him, a softness in his eyes Jeremiah hadn't seen in more than fifteen years. 

_"We have the same blood running through us."_

He remembers Jerome cutting the restraints, his voice uncharacteristically calm despite his damaged vocal chords. 

_"We are practically identical."_

He remembers how Jerome's tone of voice suddenly changed into a whisper. He remembers the raw, desperate hope. 

_"Stop trying to fight it."_

He lifts his head and eighteen-year-old Jerome is gone. He resembles the one on the stage now, same suit, same hair, same scars, same warmth in his eyes. "You wouldn't have killed me", Jeremiah hears himself whisper and Jerome tilts his head as he waits. "You wanted to take revenge, but..."

He unconsciously lifts a hand. He shouldn't be able to run his fingers down the side of Jerome's face and feel the scars. He shouldn't. _They feel so smooth._ "Go on", Jerome whispers in the same hopeful tone as he did the day Jeremiah lost him.

"You wanted to reconnect."

He can't hold it back any longer, he can't ignore it any longer. His chest is aching for his brother and he closes his eyes as he drops his hand, knowing he's going to start crying if he keeps looking at Jerome. He doesn't cry anymore, not ever since he got sprayed. "I tried so hard to stop missing you and after what I did, it never occurred to me that..."

He remembers simpler times. When they were four and Jerome would make silly faces to make Jeremiah laugh. When they were five and Jeremiah tied Uncle Zack's shoelaces together while he was passed out drunk on his chair for pushing Jerome down the trailer stairs. When they were seven and Jerome threw a rock at one of the other circus kid's head for shoving Jeremiah. He remembers entangled limbs at night. He remembers Jerome's lips against his forehead. 

As soon as he thinks it, he feels it again. "You've felt the same as me", he whispers and Jerome hums against his skin. Jeremiah would do anything for it to be as real as it feels.

'So the penny dropped, eh, baby brother?"

"All I ever wanted was for us to be okay." He tries to keep his breathing steady. He won't cry. He _won't._ "But we were both too damaged for that to ever work out. And now I..."

He hopes he can feel it when he reaches up with both hands but doesn't dare to open his eyes. His fingers grasp the rough fabric of Jerome's suit and he exhales slowly as relief floods him. But it doesn't numb the pain. "All I want now is for you to be alive."

Jerome's arms wrap around his waist and the lone tear that's running down Jeremiah's cheek will be the last one he ever sheds, Jeremiah swears it to himself.

"You're dead, Jerome. You're _dead."_

He lets himself be held, he lets his twin's illusion fill him with the ghost of a familiar warmth, just for a moment. When he pulls away, he turns around without sparing Jerome another look. "And that's why I can't afford to lose Bruce."

Jerome doesn't leave. He never leaves. And when he does, he always comes back. He comes back but he's not real. He's what Jeremiah wants him to be. He can never know what Jerome really thought, what he really felt. Hoping for it doesn't make it real. For all Jeremiah knows, Jerome hated him. Not even his illusion can rid him of his doubts. It's something he'll have to live with until he dies, until he can ask Jerome himself. 

"He won't fill the void, Miah."

Jeremiah hates his broken brain for making Jerome use that name. The name that is wrapped around his childhood like a scarf that gets pulled tighter and tighter until it suffocates you.

"I know," Jeremiah whispers earnestly. "But he can still pull me from the darkness."


End file.
